I, Kunoichi
by SkItZoFrEaK
Summary: Deception. Seduction. Assassination. Espionage. It’s an intricate game, and the smallest misstep could mean death at best, civil war at worst. But don’t worry. They're kunoichi, and they're good at what they do. Tsunade.Sakura.Hinata.Tenten.Ino.Temari
1. Prologue: Political Manuevering

AN: A random idea that I sort of got while watching one of the more kunoichi-centric episodes of the anime. This one shouldn't be too long - one chapter per female character, one specific area of a kunoichi's life/expertise expressed through each. One cohesive storyline, I hope.

**Tsunade**

"_These women, or kunoichi as they were called, were given special training in psychological skills and intuition. Taught to manipulate men high-up in the enemy hierarchy, they were extremely talented in the more delicate arts of manipulation."  
- Ellen Pearlman_

It was a bright, beautiful morning in Konoha. Birds were singing gaily, a soft spring breeze was blowing, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and the citizens of the village were pleasantly occupied going about their lives. It was, in all, a lovely, cheerful, perfect morning.

Damn it.

Tsunade rubbed at the gunk in her red-rimmed eyes, yawning widely without bothering to politely cover her mouth. Not like it mattered, or anything. No one was around – well, no one that she needed to impress at the moment. "That's an attractive expression," her fluff-headed comrade remarked, grinning at her. No, Tsunade corrected. Leering at her, as she reached to adjust her shirt. Pervert.

She grunted in response, forbearing to reply with any of the nastier comments she'd have liked to make. It was too early to lose her temper. Way too early. She'd stayed up all damn night on her paperwork, and she also had a hangover the size of the Hokage Monument, and if she were anything except the Hokage, she'd call in sick today and go back to bed. A real bed, not the nest of papers and scattered sake bottles that was her desk.

But Tsunade was the Hokage, and whatever else she might have been, she was a responsible person. She had to be.

"You really ought to wear something a little more formal, you know," Jiraiya offered, perching himself on a chair as she stumbled up to her feet, scrubbing at her face with her hands. "Maybe it'll keep you from falling asleep in your office so often. Not to mention it might make you look more like a respectable Hokage and less like a cheap casino prostitu - "

He was forced to choke off the rest of his commentary and duck under the desk to avoid a barrage of flaming shuriken. Tsunade glowered at him when he re-emerged, patting at his hair to put out the small flame on one fuzzy white lock. "Good morning to you, too," he grunted, still smiling nonetheless. "Jeez, a guy tries to be helpful…"

"What are you doing here?" Tsunade grit her teeth. _Must not kill subordinate. Must not kill subordinate. Well, sort of subordinate. He's still technically a Leaf shinobi – but the day he obeys my orders is the day Shikamaru decides to join a marathon team for the sake of the exercise. _She eyed that stupid perverted face and its stupid perverted grin under all that stupid perverted hair. _Maybe if I just maim him a little, it doesn't really count…_

Oblivious to her mental musings, Jiraiya leaned back in the chair again. "Got some interesting news for you," he said at last, watching with obvious amusement as his former teammate shuffled around her office, absently unearthing a wooden tray buried under the mess of papers and scrolls.

"What?" She yawned again and scooped up the sake bottles and a few outdated scrolls that ought to be thrown away.

"Got rumors of unrest at the Fire Country court," he told her casually as she dumped the trash onto the tray and set the whole thing near the door for Shizune or someone to cart off.

"What kind of unrest?" Her posture remained relaxed, her face utterly unconcerned, but her carefully-casual tone hid an edge that told him he'd finally gotten her full attention.

His own voice relaxed, as if he were merely relating the weather, Jiraiya scratched his ear and shrugged. "Oh, you know. Assassination plots on the Fire Lord. Scheming political parties. Pretty messy."

"One of the political parties working the assassination?" She seated herself behind her desk again, putting her feet up on the wood and attempting to comb down her sleep-mussed hair with her slightly-too-sharp fingernails. Jiraiya shuddered at the thought of those nails at his throat (not that such a thing had ever happened . . . well, not for a few years, anyway).

"Seems like it," he agreed, with another disinterested shrug. "There's a few courtesan clans in particular that are more or less locked in a sort of power struggle for the influence behind the throne. Could be any of them."

Tsunade allowed herself to frown a little. This was potentially bad news. Two clans, probably with faint bloodline ties to the throne, vying for control of the monarchy was never good for a country. Should anything happen to the current ruler, it would be all too easy for the two clans to attempt to claim succession, which would lead to civil war.

It didn't help the situation that the current Fire Lord wasn't exactly an astute or even desirable leader. The kid was, what, eighteen? Nineteen? She had Chunins older than him, and much more capable of handling the political affairs of a country, come to think of it. He had a reputation for being somewhat foolish, careless, and a little too fond of his own creature comforts. Tsunade had seen him once during her free-roaming years, and he had been a soft, plump, spoiled child of eleven then. She didn't imagine that the years following his father's death and his own ascension to power had done much for his character. But then again, there were worse things a leader could be besides chubby and self-indulgent. At least he was no tyrant.

And he was infinitely preferable to civil war, that was for damn sure.

Tsunade rubbed her forehead again. "Which clans?" She asked at last.

"Some of the more prominent ones. That's really all I've got." Jiraiya stood up. "I saw a messenger coming in the door when I was coming in," he added, jerking his head to the office door. "I'll bet they bring him up here in a minute or two."

"Alright," she waved a hand lazily, occupied with rooting through her desk for a pen that actually worked.

"You know, flat-chest," he poked her in the back of the head. "I meant it about not sleeping at your desk all the time. It's pretty unattractive to watch you drool all over yourself."

He leapt for the window and dodged out through the opening just in time to avoid the fist that otherwise would have shattered his skull.

"And one more thing," his voice floated back to her on the breeze. "You've got ink marks on your cheek again."

_Definitely maiming him,_ Tsunade growled to herself, stomping to the mirror and scrubbing vigorously at her cheek.

By the time Shizine escorted the small, timid-looking old man to her office, the Gondaime Hokage was sitting correctly behind her now-tidy desk, as composed as if she had just arrived bright and early from a good night's sleep. Shizune rolled her eyes knowingly, but stayed quiet as she showed the messenger to a chair and bowed her leave, taking the tray with her.

"Hokage-sama," the man greeted her with a quavering voice. His dark little eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at her.

"Good morning," she replied calmly, and watched with mild irritation as his lower lip trembled. He looked like a child being scolded for tracking mud in the house. She offered him an agreeable smile, trying to look non-threatening and pleasant. "Not many people make the trip all the way out to Konohagakure personally. Your business must be very urgent indeed. How can I help you?"

"Hokage-sama," he said again, settling his roving eyes at last on his wrinkled hands.

Tsunade waited. "Yes?" She asked after a beat.

"I am Morita Naoki, most trusted servant and chamberlain for the Honorable Hamano Kaito, head of the renowned Hamano clan in the court of the Admirable and Worthy Fire Lord Nakamura Masahiro." His voice was slow and careful, as if he were actually pausing to think between every few words. Tsunade raised her eyebrows and waited, again. She'd have loved dearly to shake the little man, force him to stop dragging this out with formal titles and flattering comments and just get to the point, but he seemed determined to carry on with his ridiculously flowery introduction. "My most merciful lord and master, Hamano Kaito, has instructed me to come to this village and seek audience with your most patient and wise person, Hokage-sama, so that I may convey to you the urgent news and the most serious request that Hamano-sama must make to you."

_I am the Hokage,_ Tsunade reminded herself, trying not to fidget as he made his careful way through the long, winding sentence. _I am the highest representative of this village which I have sworn to protect. And besides, it's still too early to lose my temper._

"What exactly does he need to tell me?" She asked aloud. "More importantly, what does he request?"

"The eminent and discerning Hamano-sama feels that it is necessary and honorable to inform the mighty and powerful Godaime Hokage that there is evidence of an abominable assassination attempt on the most reverently adored Fire Lord," the old man's voice dropped to a frightened whisper, as if the very idea offended and disgusted him. Tsunade remained unmoved.She studied the messenger with seemingly sleepy, unconcerned eyes.

"I see."

The old man fidgeted his hands, but he seemed momentarily to forget his frightened demeanor, even leaning forward a little in his chair. "Hokage-sama, the honored Hamano-sama requests that you send your skilled and astute shinobi to investigate this appalling conspiracy. He has heard through many extensive and accurate sources that the vile assassination may be originating from a group of hotheaded youths among the other courtesan families."

_Other courtesan families? Specifically, one other courtesan family? _Tsunade almost, but not quite, smirked bitterly. This was where he would try to innocently pin the suspicions on the rival family within the court, so that the shinobi would be all over the doubtlessly corrupt family, leaving the equally corrupt Hamano clan to carry on its plan of conquest unmolested.

"Which families in particular might be a good place to start the search?" She prodded gently.

"Oh, the Ishimaru clan has been known to deal with less than savory characters from time to time," he said carefully, now making it a point to let his eyes skitter nervously around the room. It kept him from looking her directly in the eye, she knew, and he probably hoped it would make him appear frightened and therefore non-threatening. It had worked, the first few minutes. But she was not the legendary sannin kunoichi for nothing. "The Kuroda clan has shown a particular sort of ambition of late," he went on, speaking more quickly than before. Tsunade committed the names to memory, but had little doubt that she was more likely to find that they were guilty of little more than irritating the Hamano nobles at some point.

"My wise and serene master even fears in his noble heart that the treachery may even be among the greater houses of the court." The old man was still trying to appear frightened and horrified by the very idea of political manipulation, but to her he now merely looked shifty and calculating. "It might even be from among the lower ranks of the Tamayuki clan," he all but whispered, hand coming up to cover his mouth in shock and stunned realization.

Tsunade wanted to snort at his dramatics. But she had to appear concerned, intelligent, and mature. She had a reputation, not necessarily her own, but that of Konoha. She had to appear like this message, possibly a plant, was a real warning, and that she would take his fears into complete and serious consideration. She had a responsibility to keep her eyes from rolling, to keep the sarcastic remarks in the back of her head and not on her tongue.

But she also had a responsibility to make sure this assassination conspiracy wasn't a real threat, either. Civil war between political clans after brutal regicide would do her village or her country no good.

This responsibility thing could be a real pain sometimes.

Tsunade managed to keep her face composed until the little man was out her door and on his way again, and when Shizune came in, she relayed the gathered information with an equally calm demeanor.

"We'll send people to do some research in the court," Shizune offered. "Find out what they can about assassination contracts, or maybe rebellious groups inside the political clans."

"Not yet," Tsunade shook her head. "Let's try to be a little more subtle than just sending a flood of spies into the court. That's a political web I'd rather not tangle my people in unless I absolutely have to." She tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. "We'll send someone to check out Tamayuki first. Get close to him, see what kind of information she can squeeze out of him."

"She?" Shizune asked lightly.

"This is going to call for a little more subtlety than just sneaking in and listening to his conversations," Tsunade told her, studying the ceiling. "Right, Sakura?"

"Yes, sensei," Sakura answered coolly from the door, stepping into the room. "When would you like me to leave?"

Shizune stared. "How long have you been listening out there?"

"Since about three seconds after you came in," Tsunade told her lazily.

"She didn't stop me," Sakura told the still slightly stunned Shizune. "So I assumed she must have me in mind for this one."

"You'll need to get information concerning assassination plots or rebellious political groups within the court as quickly as possible. The only way to do that will probably be a more direct approach. It could take months if you just eavesdrop in on his conversations. Sakura," Tsunade looked down from the ceiling abruptly, her face suddenly becoming very serious. "You know what kind of mission this is probably going to be."

Sakura bowed her pink head, face unreadable. "Yes, Hokage-sama." She glanced up briefly, green eyes meeting golden-brown. "I'm a shinobi," she said quietly. "I know my duty."

"Very well," Tsunade dismissed her. "You leave within the hour. Get a horse from the nearest farm village, it'll get you to the Imperial City faster than walking. This could be a time-sensitive issue. Target is Tamayuki Shigure, head of the Tamayuki clan."

"Yes, sensei," Sakura bowed again, flashed a smile to Shizune, and left.

"What did you mean, 'what kind of mission this is going to be'?" Shizine demanded. "Why did she look so serious about it? I thought it was just a reconnaissance mission."

Tsunade sighed, very softly. As a teacher, she didn't like sending her young (though more than capable) student on a mission that would, in all likelihood, end up being very unpleasant and painful for her. As a woman, she shuddered to think of what Sakura might end up doing in order to get information from an unsuspecting political pig like Tamayuki Shigure. But as Hokage, she was responsible for the welfare of all the people of Konoha, not just the mental conditions of one kunoichi.

And Tsunade was a responsible person. She had to be.


	2. Seduction

AN: Some sensative themes in here, consider yourself warned. Experimented with this in present tense and in first person, but decided that was crap, so changed it back. Let me know if I missed any tense or POV changes, and I'll fix it. Still playing with my Wind of Change story, so this is something to funnel off some of the randomness that's distracting me. Not quite as amusing as Tsunade's chapter, but we're getting into the darker sides of kunoichi life now. (My next two chapters have required quite a bit of research, so they make take a few days.) Here we go...

**Sakura**

_There were missions of espionage nature or ordered hits, which only the Kunoichi could complete, because of the advantages of her gender, and where men had no chance of success. There was a saying in feudal Japan that there was no castle guarded well enough that the kunoichi couldn't enter.  
- excerpt from Warrior Ways of Enlightenment_

The door creaked open, and Sakura fought to keep the nausea and fear down in the pit of her belly. _I am a shinobi,_ she reminded herself firmly. _And I am not afraid._

Her customer - her victim - stalked into the room, eyeing her carefully. Tamayuki Shigure was not a particularly ugly man. In his younger days he might even have been quite handsome. But he was forty-eight now, and his features were just a little too sharp, his hair just a little too wispy on his slightly age-spotted head. His fancy court robes were dark blue and made of gorgeous rich material that did little to hide his scrawny body.

Taking a long, deep breath that caused her chest to swell strategically, she lowered her eyelids and murmured in her softest voice, "Are you pleased, sir?"

He looked her over, from the soft pink tresses splayed deliberately across the pillow to the form-fitting red dress that left little to the imagination. But men like Tamayuki Shigure didn't come to places like this to _imagine_ anything. They came to see for themselves. And more.

He smiled at last, a twisted little grin of anticipation that she preferred not to study too close. Behind him, the brothel owner met Sakura's eyes briefly, and nodded his head once. He didn't like her being there, didn't like that she was taking a job that one of his regular girls could have covered for a profit. He especially didn't like the idea that she might even get him in trouble with a wealthy patron like the head of the Tamayuki clan. But Sakura could be remarkably persuasive in these situations. When she had a pouch of coins in one hand and a sharp dagger in the other, most men found that it was best just to agree to her demands and be done with it.

Granted, this was a particularly strange demand. But the brothel owner, in his dull mind, didn't care too much why the strange girl wanted so badly to meet privately in a brothel house with a man like Tamayuki. Probably had wild dreams of making him love her and getting his fortune, or something equally stupid.

But money was the last thing on Sakura's mind as she forced herself to lounge calmly against the piled cushions of the bed. In the flickering candlelight, her light green eyes turned an unreadable, smoky grey. Slowly, languorously, she reached up behind her head, watching as his eyes darted down to stare in fascination at the way the movement caused the thin red material to tug against her body. She lit a small scented candle and rose gracefully to her feet, gesturing to the bed.

Tamayuki lay back against the cushions, watching her with the same twisted little smile. She politely wafted the scented smoke from the flickering candle towards him, and reached to help him pull off his shirt. He was even thinner than he looked under all the thick material. Sakura looked at him from under heavily painted, half closed eyelids that managed to mask her flat, cold stare. She knew her face was a perfect mask of calm and perhaps even lust, but her eyes might give the game away unless she was very careful. Men like Tamayuki were good at reading eyes – it was a political skill they honed in the subtle dance of treachery and power-games in the court.

But tonight his guard was down. This was a high-class brothel that catered to the wealthy men of the court, those who tired of flirtation and dalliances with courtesans, those who wanted sex from trained women – or those whose tastes ran to the more innocent and submissive. Sakura thought of the child she had passed on the way into the room, a girl adorned with more jewelry and makeup than any ten year old should ever wear. Her stomach twisted slightly for a moment, but she too was well trained, and her face stayed smooth and unruffled. Tamayuki reached for her, rubbing a boney hand over her chest, down her side, to the swell of her hip. "You're new," he said. "I'd remember a girl with hair like that."

"I'm new to the trade," Sakura glided to stand in front of him, making certain that her movement swirled the candle smoke over his face again.

"Untouched?" He asked, eyebrows shooting up. She nodded, trying to conjure up a maidenly blush while still looking experienced and sultry. It was harder than she thought it would be. But the excited leer on his face told her that if she wasn't doing it right, he wasn't about to complain. "Well, that is an unexpected treat," he put both hands boldly on her body, and she firmly squelched the urge to slap him away.

"I am many things, lord," she murmured throatily, winding her arms around his neck and kneeling on the bed, legs on either side of his lap. "Unexpected is certainly one of them. And I have been thoroughly instructed, despite being new to the trade."

"So I can tell," he answered hoarsely, licking chapped lips. Sakura tried not to make direct eye contact, but she could see from under heavily painted eyelids that his pupils were starting to dilate. She felt a small surge of relief mixed with hope and worry, and swallowed the emotions ruthlessly. She had no time for any of them, right now.

She took a deep breath and blew the air softly across his face, watching as more smoke swirled in the heat of her breath.

"Tell me, my lord," Sakura leaned forward slightly to whisper huskily in his ear. "By what name should I call you?"

"Shigure-sama," he answered, trying to shift to pull her hips against him, but she wriggled at the last moment and managed to avoid the contact. To keep him occupied, she dragged her fingertips over his chest and around his back, glad of the rubbing oil she had dipped her fingers in only moments before his entrance.

"Shigure-sama," she murmured sweetly, pitching her voice to sound younger. He seemed to like that, and she added _pedophile_ to her mental character sketch of him. "You look like a nobleman. Do you live in the court?" She tried to sound vapid and silly, enhancing the façade of innocence he appeared to be enjoying so much.

He chuckled, obviously pleased with himself as he pulled at the thin fabric of her borrowed outfit. "Oh yes, my dear. I'm a very important man in court. The Fire Lord himself often asks me for my advice on delicate matters of state."

"Ooh, you must be very important, then," she cooed, letting him paw her but being careful not to get too close. It might come to that, indeed, but she needed information first. "I'll bet your whole family is important to the court, and you go to all the wonderful parties and banquets." His tugging on her clothes became more insistent, and he managed to pull the skirt up past her thighs imperiously. Too soon, she didn't know enough yet – Sakura reached down between them and pushed her nimble fingers through the opening in his own robe. He let go of her dress, suitably distracted, and Sakura bit back the revulsion. "Do you go to the court a lot?" She said, a little more loudly than before to catch his attention again.

"Ah course." His attention was vague, and it wasn't just his lack of interest in the conversation. He coughed once, inhaling deeply to clear his lungs. Sakura was careful not to breathe too hard herself now as the fumes from the burning candle thickened in the room. She watched his slowly-slackening face for the telltale signs that he was about to pass out. After all, he was no good to her unconscious. "My son's the favored frien' of the Fire Lor..." he coughed again, "Fire Lord. He even had a banquet 'n his honor once."

"That's wonderful!" Sakura exclaimed, debating whether or not she ought to open the window just a crack. Tamayuki's speech was slurring faster than it ought to; he was breathing heavily now, sucking in smoke faster than she'd anticipated. "Is he in court often?" She sent a brief shiver of energizing chakra into him, jolting his drooping eyelids open.

"My son? Oh, he used t' be." He pulled harder on her waist now, and Sakura knew that she couldn't keep him happy with just her hands much longer. "But lately he's been hangin' out wi' the younger men of some ah th' lesser clans. Stupid boy. Thinks I don't know what's. . . goin' on in. . . own house." He snorted, pupils definitely dilated now and breathing definitely erratic. "But _I _know. _I_ see what he's up to, and I . . .he's doin' it all wrong. 'S no good to empty the throne _now_, with that damn Hamano clan hangin' around ready t' strike."

"What is he doing?" she asked quietly, letting him pull her shirt all the way down around her waist. "What do you know?"

"Oh, stupid rebel stuff, boy's dreams," he muttered, attention riveted on her chest. Sakura suddenly felt filthier than she'd ever felt before, including the four days she spent in the rain-soaked mud fields of the Wave Country a few months ago. "Thinks he can assassasina- assina- _'sassinate_ the Fire Lord," the man heaved a dry, vague chuckle, stopping abruptly as he forgot what he was laughing at.

"Are those other boys he's hanging out with trying to help him do that?" Sakura murmured, only letting him pull her another teasing inch up his lap.

Tamayuki harrumphed in disgust. "Idealistic idiots," he grunted, none too clearly. "Young fools. Havin' _meetings_ at his _house_. . . 'f all th' _stupid_ . . . tryin' t' get themselves discovered . . . never taught him anything . . . new heir, that's what, I'll tell 'im I'm gettin' … new…"

Sakura pushed him gently back to lay fully outstretched on the bed, carefully extracting herself from his finally stilled hands. She pulled her shirt back up over her shoulders, picked up her discarded trench coat by the window, and cracked the glass long enough to take a deep, calming breath of clean air before shutting it again. The last thing she needed was the chill of the night air waking him up. She left the drugged candle still smoldering by the head of the bed and opened the door. The brothel owner was nowhere in sight, so she gestured to one of the other girls who was patiently waiting in the hall to be called to work.

"Come in here," Sakura ordered quietly, and shut the door behind the prostitute. "Here," she put a handful of coins in the girl's hand, carefully not meeting the childish, big eyes or looking at the too-young baby face. "Get undressed and lie down next to him. When he wakes up, act as if you've been here all the time, and you slept with him, as promised. If he asks about me, tell him you've no idea what he's talking about, and think he must have had too much sake."

The brothel girl was suspicious, but the money was more than she ever got for a regular job, and it was nice to be paid just to sleep _next_ to a man as opposed to _with_ him. Besides, something in the air in there was making her sleepy. She took the money, and before the stranger in the dark coat was even out the door, she'd curled up naked on the bed, drifting off into her own cozy mind.

No one noticed Sakura as she moved through the dark streets, silent as a shadow, as unreal as wisp of smoke or a dream. She never paused in her steady, swift path through the city, face obscured in the upturned collar of the coat. She didn't cry, though her eyes felt heavy and hot once when she remembered the violating rough caresses. She didn't shudder, though her skin felt unbearably filthy. She didn't vomit, though her stomach twisted several times. She had nothing to cry about. She'd succeeded in her gamble, after all. Nonetheless, she knew deep in her guts that had it come to sleeping with Tamayuki to get the information she wanted – well, like she told Tsunade, she was a shinobi, and she knew her job.

It would take her another few hours to find her horse and slip out of the Imperial City. Another five hours (her thighs ached at the memory of her first ride to the City gates, but she wasn't complaining. There were worse things to have between your legs, you know), and she'd be back in Konoha. For now, she was glad to be done with her particular part in the twisted tale. If the Hokage decided that Sakura needed to stay involved in this budding political conspiracy… well, she'd never shunned her duty before and had no intention of starting now, no matter what. Because when it came right down to it, Sakura was a kunoichi, and she was not afraid.


	3. Larceny

AN: Before anyone gets the heebie-jeebies imagining Hinata the seductress, let me reinstate that each chapter is supposed to explore a different facet of kunoichi life. They won't all be doing the same thing, but all their actions affect the events in the story. This particular chapter, by the by, was meant to be a little rushed and sudden. Leave long flashy battles with catchy one-liners and preachy monologues to the boys, I say.

Also, the excerpts at the beginning are, as far as I know, real. Some I got from books, some from the internet. If you see a mistake, don't hesitate to let me know.

**Hinata**

_The neko-te were usually used by the female ninja. The weapon is strong iron fingernails that were fastened into leather bands fitted on the fingers, and resembled claws that were also dipped in poisons. The eyes were a favorite spot for slashing_._  
- Dr. Maasaki Hatsumi_

Tamayuki Tsuga's opulent office was dark and empty, save for the deep shadows of midnight that settle heavily in the corners, under the carved wooden desk, and behind the thick, ornate door. Had the young noble been in his office at this time of night (but he was not, being otherwise engaged with a delicate young lady in a bedchamber just down the hall from his wife's rooms) he might have been startled to see one of those shadows detach itself from the gloom near the window and glide noiselessly across the floor.

But then again, had he been there, he would not have seen the shadow anyway. That was the whole point.

The shadow, now solidifying into a delicate but distinctly human form, reached a gloved hand into the desk drawers, moving papers, scrolls, pens, and various pieces of loose money around disinterestedly. She made no noise when the search turned fruitless, but her face under the dark grey mask was distinctly disappointed. She had hoped that the information she needed would be written all nice and neat and waiting to be carried off, right there in his desk. It was never, ever that easy, of course, but one could always hope.

Hope was something Hinata did quite well, actually. It was a sort of survival mechanism that she'd developed early in her childhood, somewhere around her third birthday when she met her cousin and witnessed the first in a series of events that eventually drove him to hate her, and all the rest of her family. He disliked them now, of that she had little doubt. But he might someday be able to see past the prejudice between his part of the family and hers, might be able to go around the bog of political maneuvering and the obvious gulf between his natural talents and her own. Someday, they at least might even be friends. It was unlikely, but she hoped for that day just the same. It helped, hope.

She also hoped that the scroll she _knew_ the son of Tamayuki Shigure had received today from an unknown source was hidden in this office somewhere. Heaven help her, she really didn't want to prowl through the whole house in search of it. The mansion and the grounds surrounding it were huge, and Hinata knew from experience that it could take hours just to stroll around such an estate casually, let alone make a detailed search. Hinata had a marked advantage over other shinobi when it came to looking for things, though, which was partly why she'd been sent on this mission.

Veins in her cheeks and eyes bulged out as a rush of chakra coursed through them, and suddenly everything in the office, the hallway, the surrounding rooms, and the gardens just outside the window came into painfully sharp focus. She turned slowly in the center of the room, scanning the walls for some sign of a secret niche or safe hidden in the intricately-decorated paneling. She had seen the scroll arrive, and known immediately that her days of watching Tamayuki Tsuga's house were at an end. Whatever was written on it, the scroll carried such importance that the young son of the Tamayuki lord had gone to elaborate lengths to hire not one but three guarded wagon trains all coming to the estate at various times, while the real scroll had arrived in a discreet leather bag from a plainly-dressed peasant. Hinata had watched the intricate dance of deception, and known it for what it was.

But she had not seen where Tamayuki Tsuga had taken the scroll after it had made its way through various servants to his hands at last. Which meant she may have to waste the time and chakra looking all over his house at night for it –

There! In the floor, under a cleverly concealed trap door. The paneling of the trapdoor was thick, but she could see the small, plain box fitted into the square hole in the foundation of the house. It took her less than a minute to find the very fine seams of the door and only another moment more to work a thin trickle of chakra into the cracks. She had no time to figure out the combination of the safe, so she settled for reaching in with her chakra and breaking the lock from the inside. No one was better than a Hyuuga when it came to damaging the insides of something without harming the exterior. Her father was the best of them all at it - but she shoved that unhappy thought away with a grimace. Now was not the time to dwell on her childhood.

The door opened silently – the hinges were well-oiled. She reached in and extracted the box, flipping it open. Yes, the scroll was there. The red wax seal was already broken, so she peeled back the edge and scanned the first few inches of parchment. It looked like a standard assassination contract. She frowned, unrolling it further. But with which village? Not Konoha; there was no silver leaf emblazoned in the top left corner like there are on Konoha contracts.

There was only one reason a nobleman planning regicide would insist on a written contract that could incriminate him later, Hinata knew. Most assassination contracts were spoken agreements. A shinobi was secure in the knowledge that their client would pay the promised price, because no fool would hire an assassin and dream of _not_ paying, lest he become the next target. No, this written contract meant that there was more than one nobleman involved, and the contract was a means of ensuring that none of them could turn in the rest of the conspirators without being named a traitor as well.

The signatures of the noblemen involved were probably at the end of the scroll. Hinata tugged on the roll, and her eyes widened as she finally caught sight of the names etched under Tamayuki Tsuga's –

_movement -_

she launched herself to the left, tucking one shoulder and rolling smoothly along her hip back up into a crouch. Her attacker was on her before she completed the motion, though, and the air whistled as the sharp points of her opponent's _ashiko_ sliced through the space that her neck had only recently occupied. Even as she dodged back, jumping lightly to put the heavy wooden desk between herself and the other, Hinata's mind made a snap evaluation of her opponent: muscular, lithe body. Dressed entirely in form-fitting dark garb that would be too slick to grasp and left few doubts about her gender. _Ashiko _foot-claws strapped to each boot and _shuko_ hand-claws on her knuckles. No other discernable weapon, but that didn't mean there were none.

This was poorly timed. Hinata vaulted over the desk and aimed a blow at the masked head. The other kunoichi slid neatly under her outstretched arm, and Hinata twisted to avoid the counterblow meant to slice open her belly. If this kept up, they would be forced to start making noise that the many servants and even Tamayuki might hear, and then they'd either both be caught or innocents would be killed in the cross fire.

Hinata slipped instinctively into her Gentle Fist stance, and once again felt the rush of chakra to her eyes as she activated the Byakugen. She waited for her enemy to press the attack, trying to reduce the risk of moving around and making the floorboards creak.

Noting the sudden change in tactics, the other woman dropped into an unfamiliar stance, hands splayed wide and knees partially bent. The dim moonlight from the window glinted on the steel claws adorning her feet and hands, and abruptly, Hinata saw the way to end this battle. Thrusting her left hand into her pocket, she launched forward with her right hand outstretched, hoping to end this the clean way.

But the enemy was quick enough to dodge her frontal attack, ducking once more under her slightly-glowing palm. _Very well,_ Hinata thought with a note of regret. _The messy way it is._ Before the other woman could change the direction of her dodge, Hinata brought out her left hand again, each finger now adorned with a viciously sharp _neko-te_. Occupied with avoiding the right hand, the enemy never noticed the left hand until three metal points scored into the soft gel of unprotected eyeballs.

The enemy opened her mouth to scream, but Hinata was prepared for that too, and her knee slammed into the enemy's chest, knocking all the air from her lungs. A moment later, the Leaf shinobi redirected her chakra-glowing right hand back into the enemy's skull. She caught the body as it crumpled, preventing it from crashing noisily to the floor.

Someone was walking down the far end of the hall outside the room. Hinata focused her advanced eyesight briefly, checking for danger – it was only a young woman, moving in the soft way that servants in a grand house were trained to move. Not another shinobi…nonetheless, it was time to go. Hinata reached down and plucked the dropped scroll from the floor, tucked it into her belt pouch, eased the trapdoor shut with her free arm, and then she and the body were out the window and halfway across the courtyard, all in a bare handful of seconds.

It was only then, as Hinata let the body fall to the ground at her feet, as she held up her hands before her face – one bloody, one clean, both deadly – that she let herself take one deep, shaky breath, only then that she let herself shudder all over, once. Then she clenched her hands and relaxed her shoulders and stomach muscles, scanning the area quickly and efficiently. Nothing caught her piercing eyes save the glint of moonlight on the body. She reached down and pulled the face mask away, revealing the forehead protector that had been obscured beneath the material.

Finally she dragged the body to a carefully manicured grove of trees, concealing it from the casual observer, and removed the _neko-te_ from her left hand.

She pulled another scroll and a pen from her pouch. The Byakugen was also good for writing messages on paper in the shadows of the night, and she put it to good use now as she scrawled her brief report. The words themselves were whimsical, and to anyone who might happen to intercept the message, they would seem little more than the random babbling of a child or insane person. To a shinobi of the Leaf, however, they would translate roughly to this:

_Assassination contract, no Village symbol evident. Contract was guarded by hired Stone ninja. Tamayuki is the leader of five conspirators:  
Kuroda Takumi.  
Akimoto Baiki.  
Miura Kento.  
Kurokawa Kazuma.  
Hamano Shun. _

She rolled the scroll up tightly and made a few brief hand seals. A little puff of smoke at her feet cleared a moment later to reveal a large brown owl blinking calmly up at her. "Hokage-sama," Hinata directed in a whisper, tying her message to the owl's leg. "Quickly."

The owl hopped onto her offered arm, and stretched his great wings wide as she threw him up into the clear night sky. Now all she had to do was return the scroll to its hiding place and clean up any stray drops of blood that might have spilled on the pristine wooden floor. Only then can she consider leaving the premises, going somewhere safe to rest for awhile. She would lie low, wait for instruction from Konoha, and in the meantime, hope that the stunned, ravaged face of the strange dead kunoichi faded from her perfect memory.

She slipped out of the shadowy grove, little more than a shadow herself, leaving the corpse of her unknown enemy behind.


	4. Assassination

A/N: I've been told that Tenten is a boring character. I beg to differ, and tried to make my reasons evident. This chapter required the most research of them all (so far). I tried hard to explain most of the weaponry without detracting from the story, but if there's any remaining confusion, I suggest google. Another attempt to write in present-tense that I re-did in past-tense. Let me know if I missed anything in the revamp, and hope that this portrays the weapons-mistress as more than an underrated backdrop character.

**Tenten**

_Unable to outwardly display weapons, but still needing to be armed should their presence be detected, the kunoichi improvised. The kunoichi made use of their normal attire along with an arsenal of smaller hidden weapons in the event that conflict should arise.  
- Dr. Maasaki Hatsumi _

The rain beat heavily against the glass as the wind howled and tore at the wooden frame. The window rattled, but held steady in the face of the onslaught. Tenten traced an idle fingertip along the cool glass, careful to keep her long, loose sleeve from falling back to reveal her wrists. Or, more importantly, the series of wire-activated needle-launchers that lined her forearm. None of the guests at the opulent evening party behind her needed to know about that particular little accessory.

The storm outside darkened the glass, and she watched her prey in the clear reflection of the brightly lit lounge room behind her. Tamayuki Tsuga was leaning casually against a wall, waving a wine glass flirtatiously at a pretty and obviously wealthy girl. The girl was dressed in an elaborate kimono-style gown, cut from brilliant blue and green silk that vaguely resembled the pink and green silk costume that Tenten herself wore. Unlike the kunoichi, though, the girl was obviously making no effort to keep the thing properly and modestly covering her arms, her neck, or even, occasionally, her shins. Considering that she couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen, she seemed remarkably good at the delicate ways women had of bending forward just a little too much, of letting their gowns slide and twist when they reached to "adjust" their hair.

Tenten wanted to snort, but resisted the urge. No wonder these little debutants, these daughters and nieces of political hotshots or successful merchants had a fifty percent chance of ending up married and pregnant (not always in that order) before they were out of their mid- to late- teens. And no wonder that about eighty percent of them ended up married to useless fops like Tenten's target – the too-rich-for-his-own-spoiled-good, dashing, sophisticated young men who couldn't tie their own calf-skin boots.

Tenten took her finger from the window and folded her hands modestly into her kimono sleeves, tapping the kagi hooks strapped to her left arm (just in case the needle-launchers on her right ran out). There was only about a five to six percent chance that she would even have to fire a needle, let alone throw the kagi, but it never hurt to be prepared, no matter what the statistics said.

Tenten liked statistics. When she was at the Academy, math class had been one of her favorites. It fascinated her, the ability to figure out ahead of time the exact velocity she needed to throw a _bisento_ the right distance. Statistics in particular were fun; the average _fukumibari_, for example, could be spat about twenty feet on a non-windy day. Tenten herself had experimented with the small pins, and to her pleasure found that with practice, she could spit a _fukumibari_ from her mouth almost twenty-three feet, on average, even with a light breeze. Statistics were fun, but it was more fun to deliberately change them.

Her fascination grew the day that Tenten realized she was a statistic, too. After all, only about twenty percent of the shinobi in Konoha were female, and the numbers were even less in other, weaker villages. That meant that for every five male ninja, there was one kunoichi. And even that was due mostly to the younger generations, the genins and the chunins. By the time most ninja reached jounin level, they got married and had kids, and for the women that usually meant early retirement. So in the jounin ranks, only about ten percent were female.

She intended to change a lot of statistics.

This mission, for example. Neji told her that this particular mission had a fifty percent chance of failure. Taking down the target was no difficult task, but taking him down in such a way that no one would even suspect that his death was deliberate? Not as easy, especially since the host was an ex-shinobi turned political animal. Then again, Neji also thought that women has only a sixty-forty shot at even getting chunin rank, despite the obvious fact that every single one of the three genin girls from the class behind them had become chunin within a year of receiving their forehead protectors.

Someone across the room called out to the young Tamayuki, and he lead his flirting female companion over to the new man, hand placed circumspectly on the girl's back. The rich girl laughed in response, a little too loudly. She'd probably been into the wine herself, despite being obviously underage. But then again, Tamayuki didn't seem too concerned with age restrictions, especially since Tenten knew he was twenty-five years old and had absolutely no right to be putting his hands on that young girl at all, let alone below her elaborately tied obi. If he tried that with Tenten, she'd have been forced to physically disable him before he found the _densho_ and the poison smoke bombs that she'd concealed in her own knotted obi. Or maybe she'd just put a nice scratch across his too-pretty face with her sharply pointed and poison-laced _kakute_ ring. Of course, if he ever tried groping Tenten even when she isn't wearing an arsenal of weaponry under her clothes, she'd clobber him anyway, poison or no. Perverted jerk.

Her target was now standing directly behind her, making it difficult to see him in the window without her own reflection getting in the way. She moved to the side, angling herself to get a better view. He was facing the opposite way, and that hand was definitely moving further down his giggling girl's backside. Tenten scowled. She isn't sure who needed to be slapped more: Tamayuki for being a groping voyeur, or the girl for being idiotic arm candy. Vaguely, Tenten wondered how women like that could stand themselves, and then brushed the irrelevant thought away.

Her target, claiming a need to answer the call of nature, separated himself from the group and moved towards the door. His giggle-girl immediately pouted, but was easily pacified when the target's friend offered her his own arm and a cheesy pickup line that would have made Tenten gag if she were listening. But her attention was focused elsewhere, watching her target move steadily towards her. Tenten had positioned herself evenly between two of the three doors into the room, giving herself roughly a sixty percent chance that he would use either of those – and she was right.

He aimed for the door to her right, and she slowly, carelessly, strolled through the crowds, exiting only a few moments after him. No one followed her – likely, no one had even noticed her presence for the last hour so, since she'd been very careful not to talk to anyone. But she'd also been careful to always be near enough to a group so that she didn't stand out by herself in the room full of mingling guests. In all likelihood, she could strike and return to the party without anyone being the wiser. She'd be forgotten before she'd even left the mansion, lost in the turmoil that her strike would cause.

And strike she would, because whatever statistical chances Hyuuga Neji might have given the mission, when Tenten aimed, she always hit her mark.

Down the hallway, Tamayuki was whistling in the shrill, off-key way that slightly drunk men tended to whistle. She winced, but the noise and the implication of tipsiness meant that she did't have to worry about the rustle of her kimono or the faint clink of the _wakizashi _short-sword strapped to her left thigh as she padded after him. The odds were that he wasn't likely to even hear the noise, and certainly not to comprehend it if he did.

He veered into the men's bathroom, and the tiles of that room amplified the horrible whistling. Tenten ignored the tuneless distraction, mentally running through her options. Stabbing would be easy, with the _wakizashi_ or perhaps the _kunai _tucked into the front of her kimono. But stabbing would also be bloody, and there was a seventy percent chance that a stray drop or two would get on the ample fabric of her disguise. She could try a few _senbon_ to the pressure points, but those would be instantly recognized by the host as shinobi weaponry. She'd been warned not to let the host know the death of his guest was a shinobi hire – he was a particularly good customer himself, but if the politico thought that a ninja murdered one of his guests, he'd likely throw a fit and try to make trouble for them in the Imperial Senate. No, the _senbon_ would just have to stay hidden in her hair, unused, as would the _shuriken_ that were tucked securely all around her waistband.

Poison was an attractive thought, but she'd only brought along the _neko-te_, and though the water hemlock poison on the metal tips had a ninety-nine percent chance of killing him before he even left the washroom, the claw-like marks she'd have to leave on his body would be fairly obvious. She patted her pockets surreptitiously, pleased to feel that the ten metal fingertip-blades are still in place but only a little sorry that she'd decided against using them. They tended to chip at her real fingernails, anyway.

What were the odds, Tenten thought with an ironic smile, that she would bring all this weaponry and end up having to kill him with something as simple as a hand-strike or maybe a high-kick (if she could move adequately in this ridiculous costume)? Tonight, the odds were pretty good, it seemed.

She slid through the washroom door, taking extra care not to rustle the fabric of her kimono now. It was difficult, but not impossible. Her target was standing with his back to her again, still whistling as he re-fastened his pants.

Tenten waited for the storm outside to make itself useful, and sure enough, a moment later a bright flash of lightening illuminated the room through the delicately frosted glass of the washroom window. Her target jumped at the sudden light and noise, but by then Tenten was on him, snaking her arm around and driving the edge of her hand into the soft flesh of his throat. He gagged, falling forward even as he flailed his arms out. The crash of thunder following the lightening drowned the crash of glass as his head smacked into the porcelain basin before him. Tenten danced back, and without a further glance at the body, was out the door, down the hall, and back in the crowded room before the next bolt of lightening a minute or two later made the crowd gasp and titter like the pampered fools they were.

Settling herself at the window again, Tenten resumed her watch of the storm, this time ignoring the room behind her and devoting her attention to the pattern of the rain drops on the glass. She adjusted her pretty pink and green kimono once, making sure that the iron-ribbed fan in the side folds of her gown was still hidden from the occasional casual glances some of the more drunken male guests were giving her. Yes, everything was in order, and now all she had to do was wait for someone to discover poor young Tamayuki Tsuga in the bathroom. Tamayuki Tsuga, who apparently slipped and fell onto the sharp glass window and hard porcelain sink when that terribly loud clap of thunder startled him. Poor, poor thing. All Tenten had to do was act surprised and dismayed that such a tragic thing could happen to such a wonderful nice young man with so many prospects before him. Then she could quietly slip out with the rest of the dispersing crowd to the carriage that waited to carry her back to her village, where she could finally remove this ridiculous dress and report mission accomplished to Hokage-sama.

And then she'd march right up to Neji and let him know that his statistics were outdated. What did it matter if, given the mission requirements, there had only been a fifty percent chance of success? What did it matter if, given the statistics of previous kunoichi, there was only a ten percent chance of one achieving a successful career? The past was over, and she was looking at the future now. And when Tenten aimed, the odds were she'd hit her mark, one hundred percent of the time.


End file.
